The Starfish
by PixelByPixel
Summary: It's amazing what one can happen when you don't know how to spell "Santa."


Joey Miller clutched the envelope in one small hand as he and his older brother Mike made their way to the mailbox on the corner. He could have gone by himself; he'd _told_ his mother that, but she'd said no, that seven was too little to go by himself, even to the corner. And then she'd given him that tired smile, the one that begged him not to argue, so he'd nodded and agreed that his brother could go with him.

Mike had grumbled, but it seemed like everything annoyed Mike these days. Mom said it was part of growing up and being almost a teenager. Joey figured that staying seven was fine, if he was going to end up like Mike when he got older. Still, his brother had turned off the television without too much complaint to go with Joey.

"Why'd you even write that letter?" Mike had groused, as he pulled the door closed behind them. "It's not like it will make anything happen."

But Joey had spent hours hunched over his desk, pencil in hand, to craft the perfect letter. He just _knew_ that Santa was going to come through for him this year. He'd even told the truth, figuring that Santa liked honesty, and didn't say that he'd been good all year. He'd tried, but a whole year was a long time to be good, especially with a brother like Mike. Santa understood that, right? And it was Christmas soon, so Joey didn't answer Mike the way he wanted to. Instead, he pulled his treasured Angels baseball cap lower on his head and squinted to see the box, wishing Mike would walk faster.

Finally they arrived and, after taking a moment to smooth out the envelope, Joey tugged on the handle and dropped in his precious missive. He let the box close and then opened it again, peeking anxiously to make sure that the letter was really-and-truly gone.

It was only then, with his brother's hard work irretrievably gone, that Mike let out a derisive laugh. "Do you know what you did?"

Already suspicious, Joey replied, his voice uncertain, "Wrote a letter to Santa?"

"No, you moron. You spelled it wrong." Still chortling at his brother, Mike added, as he turned to go back to the apartment, "You spelled it S-A-T-A-N. You know, the Devil?"

"That doesn't spell 'the Devil,'" Joey insisted. "S says 'ssss.'" He wasn't in the top reading group, but he knew what S said. Everybody knew _that_.

Mike sighed at his little brother's ignorance. "Yeah, but you wrote Satan, and that's the same as the Devil."

Eyes widening, Joey wailed, "What? Why didn't you tell me? Open the box, Mike! I want to fix it."

Mike shook his head. "It's locked. And I think you get put in jail if you steal mail."

"But how will Santa know what I want?" Joey aimed a kick at the mailbox, then, glancing at his worn sneaker, reconsidered. He eyed his brother, but shook his head. Santa could be watching. Or maybe the Devil. The thought of exactly _who_ could be watching, knowing if he was bad or good, made him shiver a little.

Mike shrugged as he replied, "Santa's not real, anyway. You're too old to believe in him. They'll make fun of you in school." Seeing Joey's eyes well, he said, resolute, "It's just Mom and Dad. So don't get your hopes up."

Joey swallowed hard and nodded. He knew that his family had had a bad year. That was why he had written his letter, after all. His chin trembled as he asked, "Is the Devil gonna be mad at me for writing him a letter?"

"Nah." Mike, perhaps feeling a little guilty, slung an arm around his brother's shoulders. "Don't worry. The Devil isn't real, either."

* * *

Lucifer Morningstar surveyed Lux's holiday decor with the grim satisfaction of an unpleasant task well-done. While he thought that Christmas was overrated - really, of all his father's offspring, _this_ one was the one the humans chose to celebrate? - he knew what his public wanted, and this was it: lights that were generic enough to serve all the holidays, a variety of festive costumes on his staff, and a wide array of appropriately-themed drinks.

After all, if people were going to come to Lux to escape their own lives, they should do it in style.

Lucifer watched with interest as the mail carrier entered the club. While he disliked Christmas on principle, he didn't entirely mind it when the people for whom he had done favors chose that time of year to remember him. And if those remembrances involved alcohol or pornography, which they often did, so much the better. Sadly, most of them frowned upon sending narcotics through the postal system, but one could always hope.

"No packages today, Mr. Morningstar," the mail carrier said cheerfully. "But I ran across something interesting and I thought you might like it." She handed over a small stack of mail, nodding at the topmost envelope. She was relatively new to the job, or at least to the area. Seasonal help, she'd said, but she was pleasant enough. Lucifer couldn't get over the feeling that he knew her, though. It wasn't the I've-seen-you-naked feeling he'd had the first time he'd met the Detective, but the mail carrier was somehow familiar.

Lucifer, taking the mail, peered curiously at the indicated letter, which was simply addressed, in a childish scrawl, to SATAN. No address, no postage. Looking up to meet her gaze, he queried, with a curious smile, "And you're bringing this to me because...?"

"Well, you're Lucifer Morningstar," she replied, shrugging. "And I'm supposed to deliver the mail, so..."

Lucifer considered the letter, then set it aside along with the others. "I'm Lucifer," he agreed. "But do you really think that this was intended for me?"

"Maybe not," the mail carrier agreed. "But I think it was _supposed_ to go to you."

Lucifer exhaled a quiet, exasperated noise. "Supposed to? Don't tell me you're one of those." He clasped his hands to his chest, his tone falsely earnest as he proclaimed, "Everything happens for a _reason_." Shaking his head, he muttered, "Even if it does, who's to say it's a _good_ reason?"

The woman shrugged and offered Lucifer a smile. "I am one of those, yes. And it could be that I'm right." She considered him steadily for a moment, then added, "Up to you whether you read it, but I'm sure you'll do the right thing. I'd better get back to work. Have a Merry Christmas, Mr. Morningstar. But I'm sure I'll see you before then," the mail carrier amended, with a gesture toward her bag.

"Do call me Lucifer," he urged. As she waved her acknowledgement, he added, "See you tomorrow."

* * *

Despite the mail carrier's faith in him, Lucifer did not open the letter. It stayed on his desk until Chloe, rummaging for a pen, spotted it several days later. She'd been coming over more frequently, he noted with some pleasure, and he somehow kept finding himself at her place as well.

The letter nagged at him, though, like sand in one's Italian loafer. Why in the world had the mail carrier given it to _him_? What was he supposed to do about it? So he used one of his favorite coping mechanisms and shoved the letter to a corner of his mind and a corner of his desk, even though it was just a week to Christmas.

"Hey, what's this?" Chloe asked, coming back with the pen and extending the letter. Of course she'd found it. "Some weird, demonic IOU?"

Lucifer looked over with a thoughtful frown. While he had been ignoring the case's paperwork in favor of rummaging through his books or fidgeting with his drink or... well, anything else, really, his focus sharpened at the sight of the bedraggled envelope. "It would be a devilish IOU if anything, and I highly doubt it. I'm not sure what it is, actually. It's not intended for me, you know." He concluded, with a touch of distaste, "I assume it's related to the... holiday."

Chloe settled next to him once more. "Mind if I open it?" When Lucifer made an affirmative sound, she eased open the back of the envelope. She scanned the contents of the letter, her expression softening.

Lucifer watched, drawn to that look on her face rather than whatever the letter might say. When Chloe turned back to him, he whipped his gaze to the book in his hand, pretending to scan the pages.

"You have to read this," Chloe urged.

"Do I, now?" Lucifer replied. "Do I really?" He finally met his detective's eyes and was startled to see that they were shining with unshed tears. He couldn't have that. "Right. Hand it over." Taking the letter, he frowned over it. "Appalling penmanship," he observed. "And the spelling is atrocious. I mean, 'say hello to the evels,' what does that even mean? What evils?"

"Elves," Chloe supplied gently, clearly trying not to laugh.

With a soft, derisive noise, Lucifer said, "There, you see? It definitely wasn't supposed to come to me. I have demons, not elves." His lips curved in a sudden, wicked smile. "Though I suppose they do rather the same sort of thing, in a way. Maybe I should send down some pointy hats."

Chloe rolled her eyes before taking the letter back and skimming it once more. "We have to help him, the poor kid. I mean, his dad laid off, and his mother sick, that's rough."

"And a brother named Michael, that's particularly trying," Lucifer quipped. "At least, if he's anything like mine."

"Can you be serious, for once?" Chloe demanded.

Lucifer set aside the book and turned his full attention on Chloe. "I just don't see the point," he admitted. Seeing her expression, an all-too familiar mix of confusion and exasperation, he clarified, "Not of being serious. Of helping the little parasite. There are millions more who are in similar situations, or worse. What difference would it make if he got a few trinkets?"

Chloe closed her eyes and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She said, her tone one of strained patience, "I was thinking about more than just trinkets. Besides, sometimes things that seem small to us can mean the world to a family that's struggling. It would matter to _him_ ," she concluded. Chloe cast a rather pointed look around the opulent penthouse, then, seeing Lucifer's look of general incomprehension, added, "Like that starfish book I was reading to Trixie the other night, and how the little boy couldn't save them all but was happy to help the ones he could. I know you were eavesdropping."

Lucifer listened attentively enough to Chloe, and while he understood in general what she was saying, it still didn't really register as important to him. Her expression, though, the small smile as she spoke, now that caught his attention. "I was _not_ eavesdropping," he protested, as if he hadn't shifted to the chair closest to Trixie's bedroom that evening. "It's not my fault that you were reading so loudly."

Chloe laughed, and he settled back against the couch. He did like the sound of her laughter. While he knew that it likely wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things whether this one child had a happy Christmas, he decided that, if it mattered to Chloe, he could see his way clear to helping her. "Well, " he proposed. "What should we do to help?"

Chloe's smile widened, and Lucifer suddenly felt certain that he was doing the right thing.

* * *

Lucifer sat at his piano, noodling around with some of the Christmas music that he had planned for Lux's Christmas Eve party. Of course, they were all secular songs; not even for the crowd at Lux would he play drivel like _Angels We Have Heard on High_. He had just finished a jazzy riff when he heard a cheerful voice from the entrance.

"Somebody's been a good boy. I'll bet you made the nice list this year."

Turning, he spotted his mail carrier bedecked in a Santa hat and carrying a big red bag. "I would have thought I'd be on the naughty list," he replied, amused by how much she'd gotten into the spirit of things. Maybe she enjoyed role-play, he mused.

Shrugging, she crossed to the piano. "Nah, not you. I've heard some things." She eased the bag to the ground and started to remove several boxes.

"Ooh, what did you hear?" Lucifer queried, attention piqued.

The mail carrier smiled as she pulled out a hand-held computer, so he could sign for the parcels. "Just that a certain individual is now gainfully employed, and somebody took care of his wife's medical bills."

Expression pleasantly bland, Lucifer replied as he absently scrawled his signature, "Oh? How nice for that person."

"Something about some presents tucked away for the kids, too," the postal worker continued as she stowed the computer. "Anybody involved in that would definitely go on the nice list."

Well, Chloe was certainly on the nice list, Lucifer agreed. After all, her sleuthing had found the lad. Lucifer's position on any sort of list, be it naughty or nice, certainly hadn't influenced his actions. Sure, he'd called in a favor or two and even dared visiting the mall; if ever there was Hell on Earth, it was a shopping mall on the Saturday before Christmas. But Chloe had been there, and that had made it... well, no. Not good. Nothing could make the mall good. But she'd made it less awful with her enthusiasm for their task, and then they'd gotten dinner afterwards, and _that_ had been more than good.

"Why did you give me that letter?" Lucifer asked. "You know the young starfish intended for it to go to someone else."

The mail carrier shrugged. "I wasn't just helping the starfish, you know. And his name's Joey. He's on the nice list, too."

Lucifer made a small, amused noise. "Who else were you helping? You can't possibly mean me."

The woman smiled. "How's that detective friend of yours?"

Lucifer regarded her with suspicion, though he did recall the extra time that he and his detective had spent together working to help the starfish and his family. And it hadn't been so bad, what they had accomplished. He would never admit that he'd enjoyed himself, but he had, thanks to Chloe. They made a good team.

The mail carrier cleared her throat, and Lucifer focused on her once more, pointedly ignoring her amused look as she pulled out a final parcel. This rectangular box, unlike her other deliveries, was wrapped in colorful paper: white with HO HO HO! printed in red.

Lucifer pursed his lips, biting back a comment at the paper. "What's this?" He had an idea, though. He'd already received three pair of cufflinks this year; he knew the general size and shape of a box to hold them, though this one was somewhat taller. Possibly it was _two_ sets of cufflinks. As if he didn't have enough of those already.

"It's a Christmas present."

"I can see that," Lucifer replied, caught between amusement and exasperation.

The postal carrier smiled as she headed for the exit. "Don't open it until Christmas morning," she called over her shoulder with a wink. "I'll know if you do."

Lucifer got to his feet, peering after her with some puzzlement. She seemed so _familiar_ . "But I didn't get you anything..."

She paused by the exit. "You don't need to get me anything. You've done your part."

Unwilling to be in her debt, Lucifer protested, "At least come to the party tomorrow night... I'm sorry, what's your name?"

The mail carrier smiled. "On Christmas Eve? I'll be a little busy, but thanks. And I'm Nicola. Have a Merry Christmas, okay?"

Lucifer stared after the woman's retreating back, frowning thoughtfully, then looked back at the small parcel in his hand.

* * *

Trixie considered the box, which she had already poked and prodded, shaken and sniffed. The one concession to the holiday in the penthouse, it had clearly caught her attention. She turned to Lucifer, asking, "Did Santa give you this present? I mean, I know it's only Christmas Eve, but it _looks_ like a Santa sort of present."

Lucifer frowned thoughtfully. Nicola looked nothing like Nikolaos the Wonderworker, whom he'd encountered during a wild fortnight in Asia Minor nearly two millenia ago, but she'd _felt_ like him. Maybe Nick had been reincarnated? Maybe the rumors of his death had been exaggerated, and he'd somehow changed? After all, times had changed; why not people? And there _was_ that awful Santa movie with the contract, after all. "I'm not sure," he said finally.

Trixie beamed. It wasn't a no, after all. She asked, her brown eyes shining, "The person who gave it to you, did he have a broad face?"

Shaking his head, Lucifer replied, "She, actually, and not particularly. But you shouldn't -"

Trixie continued, her eyes alight with amusement, "And a little round belly?"

"Really, child?" Lucifer tutted lightly, turning as Chloe continued the phrase in concert with her daughter.

"That shook when she laughed like a bowl full of jelly."

Lucifer shook his head, complaining good-naturedly, "And you say I don't take things seriously."

Laughing, Chloe said, "It's from a poem, Lucifer."

"I'm familiar with it. It's drivel, and of course it's entirely wrong."

Trixie settled down next to Lucifer, asking, "How is it wrong?"

"Well, think about it, child. Why would Santa land on the lawn? It's inefficient, clatter or no. Of course he goes directly to the roof. The sleigh and reindeer certainly aren't miniature, not with everything Santa has to carry. And if you think that he gets ashes on his suit... well. Hardly." Lucifer straightened his own suit jacket, glad to be away from Hell and its ash. "Or if the person I'm thinking about is actually Santa, then I should have said _her_ suit."

Trixie peered at Lucifer, her eyes wide. "Do you know Santa?"

Ignoring Chloe's cautionary look, Lucifer replied, "Of course I do. Or I used to. It's been a while, after all."

Trixie beamed up at Lucifer. "That's _so cool_. I wish I'd known. I would have asked if you could get her to come to the Christmas party at my school."

"I'm guessing that Santa would have been a little too busy this time of year," Chloe replied, though not without a fond smile.

Trixie nodded agreeably enough, though her gaze turned back to the gift. "Well, are you going to open it?" she asked.

Lucifer inclined his head, but when Trixie reached for the box, presumably to hand it to him, he said, "Not until tomorrow morning."

"Didn't think you were such a rule-follower," Chloe teased gently.

"I'm not," Lucifer retorted. "But she asked me to wait until tomorrow." With a meaningful look at Trixie, he added, "Said she'd know if I opened it early."

Trixie nodded, though she asked, "Will you tell us what it is? You're still coming over tomorrow, right?"

"Yes, I'll tell," Lucifer replied. With a flick of a glance to Chloe, he added, "And yes to tomorrow, too, if you'll still have me."

Chloe smiled, one hand resting lightly on Lucifer's arm. "Of course we will. Now, come on, Monkey. We have to get home to make sure you're asleep before Santa gets there."

Trixie scrambled to her feet. With a conspiratorial grin to Lucifer, she said, "And she'll land on the _roof_."

"That she will," Lucifer agreed. "Good night, Detective, child. See you tomorrow."

Trixie ran ahead to push the elevator button, but Chloe lingered. "I wish I could be here tonight, but..." She nodded toward her daughter, adding, "I know Christmas isn't your favorite."

Lucifer had asked Chloe to the party, but he'd known that she would spend Christmas Eve with her child. "I'll see you tomorrow, though. Not too early?"

"Trixie will be up by dawn," Chloe replied, with an amused grimace. "Come whenever you want, but we might still be in pajamas. We'll have cinnamon rolls like we do every year, and enough coffee to keep me awake."

The thought of Chloe in her pajamas, Lucifer mused, definitely guaranteed him at least one spot of brightness during the holiday. At least there was that. He smiled fondly at the detective, offering, "Well, let me know if I can bring anything else."

Chloe smiled. "I will, thanks."

Gifts, he realized suddenly. He needed gifts. In all the fuss over the starfish, he'd completely forgotten to get something for Chloe, and he likely needed something for her offspring as well. Of course, with the party starting soon, he wouldn't have time tonight, but he could find something the next morning. Stores would be open Christmas morning, right?

Bouncing in place, Trixie called, "Mommy, the elevator's here."

"Merry Christmas, Lucifer," Chloe called.

Lucifer lifted a hand in farewell. Maybe, he reflected, it would be. He'd never specifically had a merry Christmas. Oh, they'd been fun in recent years, as he'd found consolation in companions and illicit substances. But merry? Not quite. He watched the elevator doors close upon Trixie's energetic wave and Chloe's fond smile.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

* * *

Making his way back to the penthouse after the party, Lucifer squinted to see the sky.

Still dark. Damn. So Chloe would likely be asleep and he'd have to occupy himself until it was late enough for him to leave.

His gaze landed on the box from Nicola.

Well. It was Christmas, after all. No sense in waiting. Lucifer settled onto the couch and took the box, balancing it in his hand for a moment before reaching for the wrapping paper.

Lucifer opened the box and puzzled over the two smaller boxes it contained. Opening first one box and then the other, he found two bracelets, identical in all but size. Their delicate light-colored bands were simple and elegant, but it was the stone centered on each band that made him catch his breath. Their dark blue surfaces, speckled with white, reminded him of nothing so much as his night sky.

They were perfect gifts for the Detective and her child. Lucifer smiled, carefully returning the bracelets to their boxes, then spied the matching cufflinks that had been tucked in the bottom of the box. Well, at least he'd gotten that much right.

The sky had begun to lighten, and Lucifer smiled as he switched out his cufflinks. He tucked the boxes into a pocket and got to his feet. He'd have time to pick up some extra coffee, and possibly a chocolate confection for the child.

And if he whistled a Christmas carol as he headed for the elevator, something about not pouting and not crying, well, he was the only one to hear.


End file.
